


Presumption

by windandthestars



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: "Cop." She scoffs, the bourbon suffering another blow. "I should have known.""I clean up nice."She snorts an undecipherable sound.





	Presumption

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in the depths of my WIP folder (seriously, how does this keep happening?) and thought I should dust it off.
> 
> Despite the general mischievous flirtatiousness this is a gen fic, though I bumped the rating up for Magnus and her wine just in case. This is set entirely outside of canon, so no spoilers, but I do have a note that this is "post Warriors" although I can't begin to fathom why. Run away fic perhaps?

He's been at the bar for a while. He had come in alone and he’s assuming he’ll leave that way. He doesn’t have hard and fast rules about things like this, but he knows better than to have any sort of expectation. Expectations led to him trying too hard and ending up disappointed. He’d come in alone, still dressed like he'd come from the office, which is what he'll say if anyone asks, but he's really looking for a way to unwind after a long day in court. It wasn't anything major, just the usual formalities, wrapping up a case he’d consulted on for the local PD, but he's out of practice and glad for the cold beer that's taking the edge off the last of his nerves.

He takes a final swig and slides the empty glass toward the back of the bar as she takes the seat next to him, wafting musky floral perfume and an air of impatience. He signals to the bartender for another and inclines his head toward the brunette head bent over the wine menu she must have plucked out from under someone's abandoned plate.

"Anything for you, ma'am?" The bartender's smooth, unaffected by the look she has fixed on him.

"Bourbon, neat." Will replies before the bartender can change his mind about his gallantly neutral stare, "and a glass of white, whatever you have."

Her gaze turns to him, steelier than before, but not quite hostile. "I don't appreciate men who assume they know me."

"Hand me a wig and call me Mary Sue." He deadpans fighting down a smile as the corners of her lips tremble. "Will," he holds out a hand. "I've had a long day so if you could forgive the asshole move maybe we could start again."

She's looks like she knows she should be kicking him to the curb, he's not exactly being suave about trying to pick her up, but she takes his hand anyway, her grip firm and sure before she offers up her acquiescence, "Magnus."

"Not a first name then," Will shrugs, "I deserve that."

"If you prefer to call me Mary Sue." The stern look fades from her face for a moment and then flickers back when the bartender reappears with their drinks. She downs a fair amount of the bourbon in one go, but approaches the wine with more reverence.

"Tough day?" He asks conversationally, running a finger around the rim of his glass.

She considers him for a moment and he turns to study her. She's carefully put together, right down to the French tips and carefully pressed seams, but something isn't quite right, like a missing earring or a run in a stocking. There's a pasty red smudge on the tip of her right index finger, flecks of red spattered on the underside of her nail, and an awkwardness to the angle with which the heel of her shoe sits hooked over the rung of her stool.

"Long," she agrees finally.

"Is this your first day in town?" His question surprises her; she clearly hadn’t been expecting it and she answers without thinking.

"I got in this morning."

_From New York._ He doesn't say. He knows better than to come across as some sort of stalker; besides, he's supposed to be Will the guy who works in an office, not Will the profiler. He's not supposed to know that she took the red eye in and that she's been on her feet all day, despite the fact that she's been downing ibuprofen to keep the pain in her ankle from flaring up.

Noting her apparent stoicism, he assumes it's an old injury, one aggravated by the flight and the low pressure system rolling through town. The suit isn't new, but she’d had it dry cleaned after she landed. Given the touched up make up, the slight tremble to the line of her eyeliner she hasn't been to her hotel, but had changed before leaving work, carefully dousing herself with perfume. "You're not the coroner they brought in to work that murder case are you?" Keeping his voice low he continues, "I consult with the department."

"Cop." She scoffs, the bourbon suffering another blow. "I should have known."

"I clean up nice."

She snorts an undecipherable sound and he takes the fact that she hasn't walked away as a good sign.

"I heard the band tonight is supposed to be good."

"The best," he corrects with a faint hint of a smile. "Even if you're not a jazz fan."

She frowns at him, disapproving, but there's a teasing note to it now.

She's a huge jazz fan, it turns out, something she's inherited from her father. They compare notes, favorite bands and covers, and make small talk while she sips at the last of her bourbon, but he lets her drink her wine in companionable silence as they watch the band set up. It's good wine he knows and she seems to enjoy it, lashes fluttering with invisible sighs as she nears the bottom of the glass.

He offers to snag them a table, but she waves him off and orders another glass of wine, sliding around on her stool to face him, her knees brushing his thigh. 

"I like the view from here." She all but purrs as he tries to swallow without choking.

The music is good, everything it’s promised to be, but it's nothing compared to the warm weight of her hand on his arm, or the soft smiles she sneaks when she catches him watching her. 

They've moved to a table, one nestled right up to the stage, and she can't seem to pry her eyes away, fingers tapping on the table, his arm, as she's swept away with the sounds that pulse through them. He's torn between watching the performance and watching her. She's seated to his left, the stage to his right, a set up he's finding increasingly inconvenient. There's nothing wrong with sneaking peaks, but they're both here to watch the show, so he finds himself staring blankly at the wooden floor, trying to find an excuse to slip around to the other side of the table without dislodging her hand.

It's ridiculous and sappy, but he likes the feeling of the weight of it through the heavy fabric of his dress shirt, the closest he's going to get to skin to skin contact right now without running a finger down the hollow of her throat. Despite the fact he's laid his own suit jacket over the back of his chair, they're both still buttoned up, too proper for the things that keep running through his head.

“I’m going to get some air,” He leans toward her as the band disperses for a quick break. “Can I get you anything while I’m up?”

“Just you,” She smirks, eyes lightening up when he flushes, fumbling suddenly for words as he pulls back, offering her his hand. He’s tempted to steer her toward the bathroom or into the alley around back, butshe’s too good for that and he’s not that kind of guy. He leads her out onto the sidewalk instead, the whole street glowing, lit up against the black of the night sky.

They can’t see the stars through the haze of light, but there’s something magical and romantic about it all the same, the old theatre and the rows of clubs, the stores and restaurants slowly closing one by one as the hours pass.

She turns, taking it all in as they stand side by side, her shoulder pressed tight against the side of his arm.

“We could grab a bit to eat after.” He points out the glowing neon sign down the block. “It doesn’t look like much, but the food is amazing. You won’t find much of anything near your hotel, not unless you’re willing to go for a bit of a walk.” 

She frowns, the universal expression of those trying to figure him out. 

“The city offered to put you up but you refused, otherwise they would have made sure to have someone meet you at the airport. They would have taken you to your hotel. You haven’t checked in yet, if you had you wouldn’t have had a change of shoes with you. You’re too classy for a low rent place, that leaves three hotels, none of which have particularly good dining options in the vicinity.” He offers up the explanation rapidly, not pausing to see if she’s following him. He’s used to people blowing him off at this point and he would really like to get that over with. 

He’s expecting her to look confused or even horrified, but instead she laughs, a light chuckle he finds he likes the sound of. 

“You sound just like James.” She turns toward him more fully, her hand brushing his arm. “If I can be a bit presumptuous, remind me to introduce the two of you. He’s in town less often than I am, but I’m sure we can make do.”

“Yeah, all right.” Will shrugs wondering how she had suddenly got the best of the conversation. She may have started off confused, but now he’s the one who’s lost. James he couldn’t place, not the name or the character, and the sudden familiarity infused in her manner has thrown him entirely, a feeling that only heightens as she continues. 

“You shouldn’t frown like that, Will.” She teases, fingers smoothing away the arches above his brows as he stares at her.

“I’m not used to- You surprised me.”

“Best get used to it.” She grins, pleased and a little sassy, before taking hold of his arm to lead him back inside. “The band’s starting up again. I’d hate to lose our table.”

“Wait.” 

She stops and he shakes his head, deciding against his better judgment not to ask her to explain, not right now anyway. They could enjoy the band, enjoy the night. He could ask later, and there would be a later, he was sure of that. He was intrigued, more than he had been, and her eyes were sparkling, mischievous. She wasn’t about to let her new amusement wander off into the dark. They could enjoy their night and he could ask her later what she was playing at, because whatever it was, she wasn’t trifling about. She knew more about him than anyone could, he was sure of that, but what she knew exactly he didn’t know.

He could find out, he could have it all sorted out in no time, but now, right now he lets her tug him back inside with a wicked grin and sparkling laugh. He could very well be playing with fire, he knew that, but he’d walked in alone and she wasn’t about to let him leave that way. It wasn’t what he had expected, but he didn’t mind. She’d had him from the moment she’d slid onto the stool next to him and she knew it. He might as well play along.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” He leans in to ask and she shakes her head still smiling.

“I have what I need.”

He smiles back, pulling out her chair and slipping around behind her to take the chair to her left. “I’m sure you do.”


End file.
